


In Way of Farewell

by Pat_Jacquerie (Pat_Nussman)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, excerpt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pat_Nussman/pseuds/Pat_Jacquerie
Summary: Avon and Blake in a hotel room.  An excerpt from a longer story.





	In Way of Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story, published in _Fire & Ice_, is the only Avon/Blake story I have, or probably will ever, write (although I suppose 'never say never', right?). It was a gift for my S.O., Aurora, who's a big Avon/Blake fan, as well as (fortunately) an Avon/Tarrant fan, and I think it turned out rather well, if I do say so myself. 
> 
> Rather than doing an excerpt from the beginning of the story, I thought I'd pull a chunk from the sex scene, so the bit that follows is about four or five thousand words into the story…

Blake rather suspected that Avon had booked the best suite in the hotel and wondered if he'd be handed the tab for that, too, in the morning. Not that it mattered, since it all came out of the same treasure room, but he thought it would probably suit Avon's sense of humor, either way--to hand over the reckoning with a flourish or to pay it himself in the most ostentatious way possible, as if he'd procured Blake's services for the night with the same currency.

At any rate, Blake had to admit the suite seemed well worth the cost and displayed precisely the kind of taste he would expect from Avon--expensive without even a hint of vulgarity.

By common consent, they didn't pause in the outer sitting room but went straight through to the bedchamber. In contrast with the spacious outer room, this one seemed engineered for intimacy, with curtained bed, a pair of armchairs by a fireplace, and drinks table all within a few steps of one another. A totally unnecessary fire already burned on the stone hearth, subtly opposed by an efficient cooling system.

Unnecessary, but Blake admired how the flicker of firelight brought out unexpected autumn depths in Avon's hair and, when he turned to face Blake, a matching flame in the dark eyes. 

"Would you care for a drink?" Avon gestured to the generously-stocked side table, his manner as smooth as a host any of those vaguely-remembered Federation society functions. A little too smooth, perhaps.

_At least he isn't rearranging the furniture_. Blake easily refrained from smiling. He suspected he was no less nervous than Avon, after all, nor did he wish to start a fight at this point. "No, I think I've had just about enough alcohol, especially if we're to..."

He let the sentence trail off, suddenly afraid to say it, reluctant to even think it. In fact, he had very little idea of what to do next, except to stand there, heated more than the small blaze in the fireplace justified, and stare at Avon.

The other man tilted his head, as if to consider all permutations of the setting and situation. "You could start," he said in a reasonable tone, "by kissing me."

An overeager segment of Blake's anatomy twitched at the suggestion. "That sounds..." No description adequate for the occasion occurred to him, so he let the sentence go, closing the gap between them, setting his hands on Avon's shoulders, and bending his head until their lips touched.

Avon's lips felt as good as they looked, opening readily under his, the clever tongue taking the initiative and invading Blake's mouth. It played havoc against his own tongue, palate, and the inside of his lips, making him as hot and eager as any randy adolescent at his first holosex show. His fingers tightened on Avon's shoulders, uncertain whether to pull him closer or thrust him away before his overreaction to a mere kiss could become embarrassingly obvious.

As though anything to do with Avon could be described as "mere."

Just then Avon disengaged and stepped back, his breathing slightly uneven. "Very promising."

Blake's lips twitched. "I'm glad you approve."

"Oh, we're not all the way to approval as of yet. But it is a start." He took one of Blake's hands in his, turning it one way, then another, as if in appraisal. "Have you noticed how similar our hands are? Both rather square, blunt, not elegant at all."

Despite Avon's words, the tone wasn't critical. Blake wasn't sure what it was. He watched as Avon lifted the hand closer to his mouth, then--like a snake striking--sunk his teeth in the palm of Blake's hand, biting down hard.

" _Ahh_."

Avon drew back his head, surveying the results of his experiment with a pleased air. "Didn't you guess that I'd bite?"

"I'll admit that I've long suspected it." And judged--correctly, as it happened--what the effect of those strong teeth on his flesh would be. His cock--sufficiently interested in the proceedings to begin with--now strained eagerly at the fabric of his trousers, wanting nothing so much as to rub and thrust against the owner of those wicked teeth.

"How satisfying to confirm one's thesis." Avon's eyes glittered wickedly, as well, making Blake want to make that gleam disappear into a glaze of passion.

"You're exactly right." Though Blake intended this to be just the beginning of his satisfaction. He found himself unwilling to wait for the next stage, a glimpse of the skin Avon kept hidden behind the velvety suede tunic. Pulling his hand gently free from Avon's grasp and reaching for the fastening at Avon's throat, he said in a voice that had suddenly gone husky, "Let me..."

Avon spread his hands in a gesture of consent, standing very still as Blake dragged his fingers down the length of the closure, forcing the edges apart and pulling first the tunic and then the creamy shirt beneath past Avon's shoulders and arms until both garments dropped to the floor and his torso stood bare.

The skin looked first pale, then ruddy, then pale again in the uneven firelight, Avon's chest more compact than his, but strong and beautifully wrought, reminding him of pictures he'd seen of ancient statuary, David come to life from marble. Impulsively, he brushed both his hands down from the shoulders to the upper edge of the stomach above the trousers, his palms tingling from the light pressure of the dusting of hair, his fingers just skimming the nipples.

A small, indefinable sound escaped Avon and he tilted his head back, the perfect lips half-open as if to draw in more oxygen.

_Oh, yes, the nipples_. With the celerity of a man accustomed to seizing the slightest advantage for his battles, Blake returned immediately to that interesting area, placing his hands flat with the palms just below his target, flicking his thumbs across Avon's nipples, over and over, almost moaning himself as they hardened and the entire chest beneath his hands moved with Avon's quickened breathing.

He moved the rest of his body closer, letting his cock, swollen inside the constricting fabric, press against Avon's hip. "Do you approve now?"

Avon's lips moved in what either could have been a smile or a less benign baring of teeth. "Let us move to the bed like civilized people, Blake, and then perhaps I'll give you my verdict."

**Author's Note:**

> Archivist's note: I will post the entire story if I can find it.


End file.
